


I'll Knit You A Sweater (and make it with love)

by Alice_h



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Castaspella looks at this little ball of trauma and is like "Mine now", Catra Goes to Therapy (She-Ra), Fluff and Angst, Gen, I'm Your Mom now, Knitting, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:00:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28481295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alice_h/pseuds/Alice_h
Summary: Catra feels like everyone in Bright Moon hates her, and when Adora's away on a mission, she wants to stay hidden away. She's consumed with guilt about what happened, and the nightmares keep on coming. But when she bumps into Castaspella, the sorceress wants to help her find happiness.
Relationships: Castaspella & Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 43
Kudos: 181





	1. Chapter 1

Even after a month here, Catra’s still not used to Bright Moon. It’s just so _bright,_ which, she imagines, must be where the name comes from – every wall is decorated with pastel colours and golden adornments, and there’s not a single corner of the entire castle that isn’t lit by at least one lamp. And the sun, _oh the sun._ She knows it’s new to everyone, having only appeared after the planet was transported out of Despondos, but the way it streams through her bedroom window every morning and wakes her up seems to be a personal attack. It hates _her_ specifically, she’s sure of it. At least Adora provides some semblance of a sunshade, and Catra can bury her face into her side and go back to sleep until her girlfriend gets out of bed.

Not that Catra’s been sleeping well since the war ended. If it’s not her racing thoughts keeping her awake until the early hours of the morning, she’s shooting upright in a cold sweat, screaming as her nightmares of Horde Prime force her to relive her experience. It’s usually the same dream, where she’s back on his ship, being held under the green fluid until she passes out, awakening to that feeling of the chip on the back of her neck. Every second Catra had it attached, she could feel Prime inside her, his thoughts and orders louder than her own, and she has no desire to go through it again – sadly, her subconscious doesn’t seem to get the message. Most mornings, Adora gets shocked awake by her terrified screams and has to quickly reassure her she’s safe.

But Adora’s not here right now. Ever since they defeated Prime, ever since they admitted their love for each other, she and Catra have been inseparable. She’s barely spent five minutes without touching at least some part of Adora’s body, usually the hand which clasps tightly around her own, reassuring Catra that she’s safe. Whilst they’ve been helping rebuild Bright Moon, the couple have had plenty of time together, which only made it hurt that little bit more when Adora and Glimmer left on their first diplomatic mission to the Fright Zone. Or rather, to Scorpia’s kingdom, as it is now in the process of being rebuilt as such.

Catra can’t bring herself to go, not yet. She knows Scorpia has forgiven her – one of the woman’s trademark vice-like hugs acted as that particular declaration – but she still hasn’t forgiven herself and she just can’t be around Scorpia right now. It’s not even that she fears having it all brought up again, she just hasn’t yet made peace with the way she treated the Princess and to face her would be to make herself vulnerable. Catra’s not ready for that yet. And maybe Scorpia too needs that time apart to build her own life back up, to define who she is without Catra around her. She’s got Perfuma now, of course, but she’s still so easily influenced, especially by Catra herself. Staying away for the immediate future is the least she can do to atone for her behaviour and help Scorpia become the Princess that she should always have been.

Bright Moon without Adora is strange, almost scary, to Catra. She doesn’t really know anyone here – Sparkles went with Adora and Arrow Boy is with his dads, so she can’t even talk to them – and she’s sure everyone else here hates her after what happened to the Queen. All she wants to do is to stay safely locked away in her room, emerging only to get food from the kitchen when she’s certain no-one will be walking down the corridor. But the worst part of having no Adora is how cold Catra is. Adora’s always so warm, she’s like a radiator, and that’s a big reason she hates to leave her girlfriend’s side. There was little good about the Fright Zone, but at least it was warm; oppressively so, most of the time, like living in a sauna you couldn’t leave. But for someone like Catra who is _always_ cold, it was more comfortable than it had any right to be.

Without Adora, though, their bedroom seems far chillier, and as the summer draws to an end even the sunlight that beams in through the window isn’t as warming. There’s a pile of freshly laundered bedding on the chair that she’d normally wrap herself up in, but it doesn’t smell like Adora and that’s a deal-breaker. She needs the familiarity right now, not the “meadow fresh scent” of the Bright Moon laundry detergent. It’s too late to rescue any of their used clothing from the washing machines now, too, that got taken away yesterday morning, but she knows that maybe there’s still something in the castle that has Adora’s scent.

Before they left, Adora and Glimmer spent ages talking in the Queen’s bedroom, planning what they were going to do once they arrived in the Scorpion Kingdom. Catra had got bored of all the Princess stuff and gone back to her own room to wait, but if Adora had spent that long in there, she must have sat or leaned on something for a while. Sparkles was notoriously bad at sending her laundry down, too, and the staff were banned from going in there without permission, so there was a good chance of finding something that might vaguely have the comforting smell of Adora.

She’s careful to open her door only slightly, the gentlest touch on the handle to avoid attracting attention while she peers through the gap. Adora’s not here to stand up for her if she gets an earful from a Bright Moon resident with any sort of memory. She’s hurt these people, hurt them multiple times, and deserves whatever they can throw at her. It’s not even that she wants a chance to apologise (though she will to anyone who wants one), she just feels as though she’ll never be on an equal footing until they’ve got a proper revenge. Maybe that’s just the Horde upbringing showing through, though, it was always ‘an eye for an eye’ there – apologies were weakness, true strength came from making others hurt as much as they’d hurt you. Or so she’d always been told.

The corridor is, thankfully, empty. It usually was at this time of day, anyway, this wing of the castle was mainly bedrooms and there was little need for most people to be here in the early afternoon. Normally she would use Melog to slip by unnoticed, but they’re snoozing on the floor and she doesn’t have the heart to wake them. In any case, Bow and Glimmer’s room is just a few doors away: close enough that it doesn’t take much effort for Glimmer to teleport between them (though would it kill her to knock once in a while?) but far enough that Catra doesn’t have to listen to her snoring all night. She _swears_ it’s Bow who snores, but after Glimmer fell asleep at the victory party and started sounding like an earthquake, they all know better.

Catra knows that Glimmer would absolutely flip if she discovered she’d been in her room uninvited, but she’s got a good excuse, she reasons with herself. Besides, it’s the Queen’s fault that Adora’s not here… sort of; she was the one that teleported Adora far away. Checking carefully that no-one is watching her trespass, Catra lightly turns the door handle and pushes the door open just wide enough to slip through. She knows that Glimmer’s room is often an experience – chaotically untidy, a plethora of bright lights and sparkly things that feel like an assault on the eyes – and she’s prepared for it. What she’s not prepared for is seeing someone else stood next to the bed, and Catra’s yelp of surprised is matched in volume by that of the other person.

When the wave of adrenaline that shot through her has subsided, Catra realises that it’s Glimmer’s aunt, Castaspella who she’s walked in on. From what she’s heard about the woman, she is a little overbearing but with a good heart; unfortunately, Catra’s opinion is still clouded by their first meeting, when Casta had been scheming with Shadow Weaver. It had worked out for the best, and she’d made it clear that there was no love lost between the two of them, but first impressions take Catra a long time to overcome. She has to remind herself that the woman in front of her isn’t someone to fear, far from it.

“What… what are you doing in here?”

“I’m just tidying up. You know what Glimmer’s like, she’s always really messy and never picks up after herself. If I don’t do it, I know _she_ won’t, and it’s really unfair on Bow to make him tidy. I mean, look at this… clothes everywhere, unmade bed, it’s a wonder that she ever manages to…” the overwhelmed look on Catra’s face gives her an indication that her rambling has become a little too much, “I’m sorry, Catra. What are _you_ doing here?”

Catra’s gaze lowers as the spotlight falls on her. She wasn’t expecting to have to talk to anyone, and she’s a little embarrassed about her reason for being here. No-one in Bright Moon has anywhere near as keen a sense of smell as she does, and they’d probably think it was weird that she came in search of anything that smelt like Adora. She already feels like enough of an outsider here, the vile Horde soldier amongst the perfect, virtuous Rebellion, and getting a reputation as the weird cat-person who sniffs cushions won’t make that any better.

“I was cold,” she mutters, still tracing a pattern on the carpet with her eyes.

“Don’t you have anything in your room?”

Without any conscious effort on her part, Catra realises her hands have sprung into motion, palms rubbing together and squeezing around a thumb as a way to take her focus away from the awkwardness of the situation. She stares intently at them as she sighs a response, “No, I… It doesn’t matter. You wouldn’t understand.”

Though Catra’s expecting to be met with resistance or an order to explain herself, she instead sees a smile rising in Castaspella’s cheeks and a hint of a sparkle in her eyes. The sorceress raises a hand in the universal gesture of ‘stop’, “Wait right there, Catra. Don’t move!”

Catra does as she’s told, although this is largely due to being confused by what the woman is doing. She watches as Casta hurries across the room, almost breaking into a skip with a joy that Catra doesn’t understand, and disappears into the huge walk-in closet. The sheer size of Glimmer’s room makes it difficult to see or hear what’s going on from where she’s stood, but she gets a few snippets of Castaspella talking to herself about how cute some of her niece’s clothes are, punctuated by sounds of things falling onto the floor.

She’s in there for a little while before emerging with something soft folded neatly in her arms, “Here, try this.”

Catra’s not sure how she managed it, whether it wasn’t just Glimmer who had mastered the art of teleportation or whether she was just so dazed by how full-on Casta is, but before she’s even able to respond, there’s a sweater being pulled down over her head. It’s very haphazardly done, and she’s stuck wearing it like a poncho for a few moments before giving in to the need to use her hands and somewhat reluctantly inserting them into the arm holes.

It’s clearly an item of Glimmer’s clothing: lilac and glittery, and thanks to the two of them not exactly being of the same build, it’s an awful fit. The sleeves end halfway up her forearm, and it’s baggy around her chest, but Catra can’t deny that it’s incredibly soft and warm. And warm in a comforting way – not quite the same as something of Adora’s, but even though it smells like it’s not been worn in years, it’s still preferable to anything that’s just come from the laundry. There’s almost a magic to it, an intangible aura of cosiness and safety – of love, maybe.

Catra’s not sure how to respond to the gesture – she’s thankful, but an ill-fitting sweater stolen out of her friend’s closet isn’t exactly the greatest gift of all time. But there’s still something that she finds uplifting, that this woman who barely knows her was willing to try and help solve her problem. That was a lot more than she ever got from Shadow Weaver, whose usual way of helping Catra deal with anything was to yell at her until she stopped talking about it. Presents, however small, were not something she’d received for most of her life, and it still feels awkward getting them, but she nevertheless manages to mumble her thanks.

Casta shakes her head, still with that proud grin on her face, “No need to thank me, it’s… I think I’m going to have to make you one that fits better, aren’t I?”

“Oh, no… no, that’s… that’s really kind but I’m okay. Thanks...” Catra splutters. Having anyone go out of their way for her still makes her uncomfortable, let alone someone whose family she’s caused untold pain to.

“Nonsense, I _want_ to!” Casta is getting nearer to her again, and Catra’s not entirely comfortable with that. She’s still uneasy about letting people who aren’t Adora touch her, mainly because she’s terrified of anyone touching the back of her neck where Prime’s chip was. A misplaced arm during a hug from Glimmer once sent her into a terrified panic for hours that even Adora could barely comfort. That’s why she’s backing away from Castaspella, retreating until she feels the door behind her.

But Casta isn’t oblivious, she can read the fear in Catra’s actions and on her face, and she stops the moment she notices, even taking a couple of steps back. It’s something she spotted in Catra the moment they first met, and she saw through the sharp tongue and tough act to the scared, traumatised kid underneath. The one who jumps at shadows, the one who yelps in abject fear when you accidentally startle her. She can’t be sure what Catra’s childhood was like, but she knows how Shadow Weaver treated Micah, she sees the way Catra’s tail gave away her apprehensiveness when she was around the late sorceress, and she can draw her own conclusions.

“I’m not going to touch you, okay? I promise,” Casta sees the result of her reassurance in the way Catra’s shoulders drop and her tail slows to a halt from flicking about behind her, “I just wanted to measure you up for a new sweater, but I can make a good guess at your size from afar. I’ve had plenty of practice knitting for Glimmer and Bow – I bet they wear them all the time, don’t they?”

“Uhh... Yes?”

Then I’ll knit one for you too,” she beams, already planning a design in her head.

“Why… why are you being so nice to me?” Catra can’t help herself but ask, and it’s almost a challenge. She wants Castaspella to stop and think about who she’s talking to, realise everything that Catra has done to her family and stop being so damn pleasant to her when she clearly doesn’t deserve it.

But Casta doesn’t break her smile, she doesn’t even miss a beat before answering, “You’re family. Well, sort of… I know that Glimmer holds you both dear, and I’m so grateful for what you and Adora have done.”

“Family?”

“In a way, yes. I know you’ve not really had that before because…” her eyebrows furrow, knowing that the only family Catra’s really had beyond Adora was someone they both know was never very maternal, “Well… you know, you haven’t had many people who were there for you.”

Catra laughs dryly, “You mean Shadow Weaver? Yeah, she never won the Horde’s ‘Best Mother’ award.”

“We can agree on that then,” Castaspella’s laugh is equally robotic, and it rapidly fades into uncomfortable silence. Even though she’s gone for good, Shadow Weaver’s name still manages to draw the warmth from any conversation. It’s not that Catra hates her, it’s far more complicated than that; there’s an awkward mix of emotions when she thinks about the old woman that no-one, bar maybe Adora, could understand. She despises the horrors inflicted on her, but still mourns the loss; the knowledge that she’ll never again see Shadow Weaver, nor hear her voice, brings tears to her eyes as much as it relieves her.

Catra never realised how much she wished Shadow Weaver had been a parent until she listened to Glimmer talk about Angella. It was an evening a few days after Prime’s defeat that the two of them had spent time alone addressing what had happened. Catra had wanted to find out about the previous Queen, wanted to hear about what a mother who cared about her daughter could be like. She knew it would be hard to hear, and probably painful for Glimmer to talk about what she had lost as a direct result of the actions of a desperate mind – _her_ desperate mind – but she needed to know every single scrap of hurt she had caused. It’s an obsession, hearing about the damage she has inflicted, and likely not a healthy one, but Catra still can’t fathom that people have no hate left for her. She needs them to despise her as much as she despises herself.

Hearing about the mundane, normal things that Angella did for Glimmer only made Catra realise what she had missed out on. And it wasn’t just the happy mother-daughter moments, either, when Glimmer talked about the times her mother was angry with her, there was a marked difference to her own childhood. Even when Angella was angry at her daughter (and from what Catra heard, that was surprisingly often) there was never any malice, and it all stemmed from a place of love, of genuine concern. Shadow Weaver was the opposite; Catra could count the number of times she felt any form of love from her so-called guardian on one hand, the bad far outweighed the good for her. If she’s honest with herself, she was jealous of the relationship Glimmer had with her mother – and angry at herself for the way she tore it apart.

“Does Glimmer miss her? Angella, I mean,” Catra asks without even thinking, though she fears she already knows the answer.

“Every day,” it’s a solemn, matter-of-fact response, but to Catra it feels like she’s been punched in the stomach, “We all do in our own way. Even me, and it’s no secret that Angella and I didn’t always see eye to eye.”

 _And it’s all my fault,_ Catra thinks. She barely remembers the portal, both life inside it and the lead up to throwing the switch. All she can recall is the way her emotions were driving everything she did, how the knowledge that Shadow Weaver left her for Adora broke something inside her that prevented her from even once thinking about the effects on others. She wanted people to hurt – no, she wanted _Adora_ to hurt the same way she did, and that was the only memory of that time: the pain, the desperation. Catra knows she has inflicted indescribable hurt on so many people, and it feels to her like it’s impossible to even acknowledge the extent to which her actions have impacted on the lives of those here.

“I’m sorry,” is all she can say, and it seems so inadequate. She’s apologised before, many times, and it always feels so insulting, as though two little words could make up for what has happened.

It’s okay,” Catra had expected to be met with apathy at best, maybe a reminder that she can never fix her mistakes, but not a smile. Not the warm, understanding smile that has appeared on Castaspella’s face, accompanied by two outstretched arms, “May I?”

Catra nods, still a little wary of the sorceress’ unexpected reaction. She’s not sure why but she feels like she can trust Castaspella – not like she trusts Adora, no-one could ever measure up to her, but certainly more than any other of the adults who have been in her life, “Just… please don’t touch my neck.”

“Of course, Catra. I want you to feel safe here,” Casta wraps her arms around the girl, careful to keep them lower than she normally would with Glimmer or Bow, and it’s exactly what Catra needs. How a single hug can communicate such strong messages of safety, of forgiveness and belonging, she will never understand, but she is sure as hell grateful that it does. It takes Catra only a second to do the same in return, squeezing tightly as if making up for all the embraces she missed out on as a child, and she swears there’s a single tear making its way down her face.

When she feels Catra’s grip loosen, Casta pulls away, mindful that, despite accepting the hug, the girl may suddenly need her personal space again. But there’s gratitude in her face, relief almost, like she’s never realised how much she wanted that to happen until it did. Casta sees the light glinting off the tears, and she stops herself from commenting on it – she knows Catra isn’t someone who regularly lets herself be vulnerable, that she cultivates the image of the tough ex-soldier, the sharp-tongued young woman who isn’t bothered by anything. To draw attention to her moment of vulnerability would only push her away. Instead, Casta gently lays her palm on Catra’s cheek and uses her thumb to silently wipe away the tear.

“Glimmer has accepted what’s happened. Maybe you need to as well,” her voice is barely above a whisper, but it’s still as firm as she intends.

“How can she…?”

“It doesn’t mean she approves, or that she doesn’t blame you for what happened anymore. You should never have done what you did. But Glimmer knows that nothing she could do will bring her mother back, no amount of hating you or wishing that Angella was still here can change what happened. I think you need to work towards that too.”

Catra finds it difficult to understand how Glimmer could ever be okay with the damage she caused, how Glimmer can wake up each day and not be pained by hatred for her. They’ve got on well ever since they were locked up on Prime’s ship, sure, but it’s never felt like a level friendship to Catra – Glimmer’s always had the advantage, the trump card of ‘you killed my mother’, and Catra has never risked asking too much of her or pushing too far. She lets Glimmer walk all over her rather than meet her halfway; that’s why Adora’s not here, that’s why she’s crying in front of Casta instead of in Adora’s arms. She simply can’t stand up for herself with the Queen because she doesn’t want to take the gamble that could result in Glimmer reminding her of what she did.

She lets her gaze fall to the ground once more, “I don’t know if I can. I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“I’d like to help,” Casta responds the instant she finishes her sentence, “I want to look after you while you’re here, Catra, and help you become the young woman you deserve to be.”

“I don’t…” Catra starts stumbling over her words, this unfamiliar territory of having an adult being nice towards her or, dare she say it, acting motherly. So much of her is urging her to not trust it, to run back to her own bedroom and stay out of sight until Adora returns home, not to take the risk. But there’s a growing warmth inside that tells her that this is the right thing to do, that she could maybe escape these negative feelings that have been trying to claim her ever since she arrived back on Etheria. She wants to feel like she belongs here on her own terms, not just that she’s She-Ra’s girlfriend who only merits acceptance based on Adora’s presence here.

The sorceress doesn't drop the warmth in her expression, nor does she want to start piling on any pressure to the girl, "Look, let me knit you a sweater. And if you want to talk to me while I do, I would love that."

Catra's shoulders are up again, her hand rubbing up and down the opposite arm in a demonstration of her anxiety about making such a commitment. It's scary, letting someone in like that, and even Adora tries to carefully approach any conversation about Catra's own demons. But Castaspella seems different to the other adults she's known; it feels like she genuinely cares, not that Catra can understand why anyone would. And maybe that's enough to make the risk of trusting her worthwhile.

"I... I'd like that too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do have more chapters planned, although I'll be focusing more on Sink or Swim initially. Let me know if you enjoyed it by leaving a comment, and you can find me on tumblr @lisshstuff


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After another nightmare, Catra calls on Castaspella.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is stretching the boundary of 'fluff and angst', but there is a little fluff in here. It's just mostly Catra dealing with past trauma and Casta mothering her along... which is all we want, really.

The door looks like every other doorway in Bright Moon – a golden archway lining a pair of thick wooden doors that bear a pale blue and pink design, the handles forming a crescent moon when they’re together. It’s far taller than it needs to be, as though the castle was designed by a giant, but it’s reassuringly solid too, like every single other door in the place. It bears the little chips and marks of the years since the castle was last renovated, but so do a lot of these doors. There’s nothing unusual or terrifying about it; it’s literally just a door. But that doesn’t make Catra any less afraid of knocking on it.

Maybe it’s the time of day. 4.00 in the morning is no time to start dropping in on people, but after the dream she’s just woken up screaming from, Catra really cannot face being alone right now. It was worse than usual, probably because Adora’s still away and she didn’t have anyone to hold her and reassure her, nor to force her to consciousness after the first terrified yelp. Normally she’s woken by Adora before the nightmare plays out to conclusion, but this time around she was trapped inside, only a vague awareness of her bed holding her hostage in the void between alertness and unconsciousness. Some may find that state a welcome one, that it would allow them to recognise a dream as merely a dream, but for Catra it only served to make it feel more real.

The moment her unconscious mind released her from its prison, and Catra had bolted upright in the bed, her entire body drenched in sweat, she knew she couldn’t stay in her room. Even turning the light on did nothing to chase away the feeling that Horde Prime was still here, watching every move she made. "Prime sees all", he'd said so often and she can hear those words as clearly as if he were standing next to her. That was the point at which Adora would normally stroke her back until she calmed, then intertwine their bodies to hold Catra tight, pulling the sheets over them both and whispering words of safety until they both returned to sleep. But Adora wasn’t here, and the sheets were in a heap on the floor with no comfort to be found.

Perhaps it is more what lies behind the door that scares Catra the most. Or rather, _who_ lies behind the door. After her first, somewhat emotional, talk with Castaspella a few days prior, Catra had felt a real shift in her attitude towards the woman. And it wasn’t just in the sort of way that you would find someone reasonably nice to talk to after a ‘getting to know you’ conversation, that was far from the reality here. Rather, there was an inexplicable sensation in Catra that she could trust this person, that opening herself up to Casta was not just less of a risk than it was before, but that it was an idea to be welcomed, encouraged, even. Castaspella was a safe person to her now.

But whether that means she would be happy with Catra waking her up to unload her nightmares in the early hours of the morning is another matter. That is what halts Catra’s fist as it hovers an inch from the door, what is making her think again about asking for help. If Casta doesn’t mind, she’ll have been worried about nothing, but if she does take umbrage at the intrusion and want nothing more to do with her, then Catra will be alone again until Adora’s return. And she _cannot_ be alone.

_She’s safe,_ Catra whispers to herself to rally her nerves, _she won’t hate me for this._ Though she doesn’t believe it with the same firmness that she spoke, it provided just enough motivation for her hand to overcome resistance and tap on the pale blue wood. It’s gentle, maybe too gentle to wake Casta, so she tries a little harder the second time, now more terrified of disturbing anyone else nearby. It’s more than she can really deal with to rouse one person from sleep, any more and she’d give serious consideration to leaving Bright Moon and never retuning.

“I’ll be right there,” a voice, croaky and quiet, calls back to her, and Catra has never felt so thankful to hear it. The knowledge that someone else is with her, on her side to fight away the ghosts that haunted her dreams, is a huge relief, and she almost wants to cry from how wonderful that feels.

A moment later, the door opens slightly, and Casta’s face pokes through, squinting as the light from the hallway overwhelms her eyes. She can just about make out Catra’s silhouette while she adjusts to the brightness, “Catra? Is something wrong?”

“I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No, no, I was already up,” it’s clearly a lie, Casta’s unmade face, tousled hair and purple nightdress are proof of that, but Catra’s glad not to hear the truth. Letting Casta down, disturbing her from sleep for her own stupid little problems, that would make her feel worse than any nightmare could. She needs that tiny little half-truth, and Castaspella knows it.

Catra cranes her neck up, the few inches of height difference between them now seeming bigger than ever. She wants to explain why she’s here, wants to tell Casta about what happened, but she’s choked up, the familiar sting of tears in her eyes again. Her voice falters, breath hitching while she tries desperately to stop herself crying, to save the embarrassment of succumbing to emotion. It’s a weakness, she had always been told, and even now – after everything she and Adora had been through – Catra still sees crying as the ultimate sign of failure.

But she needs not say anything, the pain etched across her face communicates more than words could, and Casta – even half asleep – can see something has seriously disturbed the girl, “It’s okay, Catra, come in.”

Catra almost has to be pulled inside, her legs failing to respond to the weak intention to move that her brain attempts to provide. A switch clicks, and lights illuminate a room that’s even messier than her own - a reflection of the person who resides there, she might suggest were she in a better frame of mind. But even now, Catra is struck with the idea that this is an organised chaos, that everything has its rightful place even in what looks like a haphazard pile. A scattering of clothes on the bed are shoved to the floor by Casta’s hand, and a gentle but firm press on the shoulder instructs Catra to sit.

“I had a bad dream,” she blurts out unprompted, quietly chastising herself for how much that sentence underplays the reality. It was more than a ‘bad dream’, it was a terrifying ordeal that took her back to one of the worst times in her life and forced her to re-live it. Catra's made it sound like a children's bogeyman, something that a quick check under the bed could easily prove it's a dream, but the after-effects of Prime are infinitely more terrifying than a 'monster under the bed'.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Catra’s not sure. She rarely bothered Adora with the details of her nightmares because she knows how Adora would blame herself, that she believes that, even though she had no idea what Prime was doing, it was still somehow her fault. It seems almost unfair to tell her that she has once again failed to protect the woman she loves, even if the enemy is Catra’s own subconscious, so Catra usually glosses over the particulars. But there’s something about Castaspella that’s different to Adora. Not in a good way, nor a bad one, just... _different._ She doesn’t have the same history as Adora, there’s not the same unspoken guilt, and that’s possibly why Catra begin to feel like she wants to talk. And perhaps It’s the way Casta is looking at her. It’s not expectant, not like the way Shadow Weaver would glare to demand an explanation from her, but nor is it indifferent. Castaspella _cares_ , though quite why she does, Catra cannot fathom.

She’s already picked up a pair of knitting needles, the beginnings of the sweater she promised to make Catra already forming at their end. It’s only half a sleeve right now, made from beautifully soft, deep red wool, but it’s already more than Catra has received from most people in her life. And she almost wants to cry again at this material expression of kindness, the realisation that Casta didn’t make false promises but genuinely thought about Catra when she wasn’t around.

That’s why she feels safe enough to talk, to let herself be vulnerable and reveal the horrors that lurk within her brain, “It was Horde Prime.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” like everyone on the planet now, Casta doesn’t need to ask about him. Just the name is enough to bring back memories of destruction he had caused, and the fear sown by his chipping of people’s loved ones, “Do you want to say what happened?”

Catra takes a deep breath. It’s muddled in her mind, the feelings that the nightmare created lingering longer and stronger than the details of what it actually contained, and it takes a while to get it straight enough to form a description. When she finally talks, her voice is quiet, almost emotionless as though she’s trying to detach herself from what she experienced, “I was on his ship, and he was angry. Really angry. At me.”

“Keep going,” Casta knows it will help the girl to get it out in the open, that talking over difficult things makes them less scary, and she gently encourages Catra to continue.

“He came towards me, I could see the hate in his eyes, and he... he grabbed hold of me, grabbed my shoulders. And then the floor opened up beneath me, I was stood on just a tiny bit of floor surrounded by this green... I guess it’s a pool? He used it to reset the clones, and I...”

It’s almost too much for Catra to carry on. She wants to tell Casta everything all at once, get it over and done with so she doesn’t have to dwell on it. If there was some way to unload everything, maybe just even transfer the entirety of her dream into Casta’s head so she didn’t have to say it out loud, Catra would jump at the chance right now. But she knows it’s not as easy as that, if she wants help… maybe help isn’t the right word for it. Sympathy, maybe? Someone to look after her?

The discreet tick-tack of the knitting needles is the only sound around the two of them, and it’s surprisingly calming to Catra. It's a regular pace, a strange kind of heartbeat, she thinks. It's amazing how quickly Castaspella works, and watching the rhythm of her hands is mesmerising, almost enough to take her mind off the nightmare. Almost.

Finding a calmness in having Casta knit next to her allows her to resume the tale, “He pushed me down into this liquid and held me under. It was like water but… but not, it’s thicker – only slightly, but it was all I noticed when it happened. And I tried to breathe, but I just ended up inhaling this stuff, I couldn’t breathe… Everything went black, and the next thing I know, I’m awake and laid on some table. I could hear his voice, he was just _there_ , and…”

Catra’s distress is visible now, from the agitated look on her face to the way her hand shoots up to the back of her neck to double check there’s still no chip there. If she runs her hand across the right place, she can still feel a lasting scar, a barely noticeable ridge that is a permanent reminder of what Prime did to her. It’s invisible – she’s asked Adora to look a dozen times, and even though Catra insists she _must_ see something and to stop lying to make her feel better, she’s never found anything there. But Catra can still feel it.

Seeing how the girl’s anxiety has peaked, Casta puts her knitting to one side. She opens her arms, raising an eyebrow to ask for permission to hug, but receives no hesitation, no deliberation. Catra almost throws herself into it, falling forward and burying her face into the sorceress’ shoulder, her hands gripping tightly around Casta’s back. There’s a moment where she freezes, where the desperately needed comfort turns to fear as she feels Casta’s arms move upwards to adjust to a more comfortable position, but she relaxes once they come to a rest again.

“I know,” Casta whispers into the top of her head, “Not the neck.”

She lets Catra dictate the terms of the embrace, allowing her to draw as much comfort as she needs for as long as she needs. Hearing that this girl, this terrified kid who has never known the love of a proper family, has been forced to go through such horrors by her own brain is almost as depressing as knowing that it once happened for real. Casta knows there was nothing she could do – she only knew Catra as the evil Horde Force Captain at the time – but she still feels like she’s let her down, a regret that she couldn’t protect Catra from Prime. If she could take the pain, the memories, for herself, she would, but all she can do now is to show the girl how safe she now is, how those days are long past.

Catra’s grateful, more than grateful, for the chance to let the feelings out, and she’s already soaked Castaspella’s nightdress in tears. It’s not quite as soothing as crying in Adora’s arms, as she has done often, but it’s as near as she needs it to be. There’s just something about this woman that Catra has never felt coming from any other older adult in her life before, and she still can’t work out why she’s allowing herself to be so vulnerable around someone she’s barely spoken to in the months since coming back from Prime’s ship.

“I just... I should have been more careful. I should have fought back harder, but I didn’t,” Catra’s eyes widen as she finds herself saying it. Not even Adora has heard this from her, these regrets have been her own private pain for months, “I wasn’t strong enough to stop him chipping me.”

Castaspella squeezes her more tightly for a few seconds before gently pulling away to allow herself to look Catra in the eye. She brushes a stray bit of hair away from the girl’s face, then pulls a tissue seemingly from thin air to dab away at Catra’s tear-stained cheeks. Casta’s felt nothing but sympathy up until now, and her heart still breaks to hear about the distress she’s been through tonight, but now there’s a determination to show Catra that she’s wrong to hold onto her guilt.

“No,” she says more firmly than Catra has ever heard her be, “You are _not_ to blame for what he did to you.”

“I don’t… You don’t get it. Everyone just hurts me.”

Though she says ‘everyone’, Casta knows that there’s only one person she’s referring to, “Shadow Weaver?”

Catra shrinks away from her as soon as the name leaves Casta’s lips, her arms crossing in front of her chest; she doesn’t want to talk about this now… or maybe she does. A battle over how open she’s comfortable with being rages inside her brain, manifesting itself outwardly in the way she scrunches her eyes shut and presses her knuckles into the bridge of her nose. _This isn’t the time,_ she tells herself, _it’s the middle of the night, not a therapy session._

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to make you talk about anything you don’t want to,” Casta tries to peer around the arm Catra has put up over her face, but getting no movement, she settles for picking the part-created jumper back up and carrying on with her knitting, “I know what she was like, you know. I saw what she did to Micah; he was never the same after she roped him into the Spell of Obtainment. I was only 10 at the time, too young to really understand, all I knew was that my big brother only wanted to stay in his room instead of spend time with me.”

“I’m sorry,” Catra sniffles, understanding all too well how Micah must have felt. But equally, being manipulated into casting an evil magic spell with Shadow Weaver would have been a happy memory for her by comparison to what she had been through at the mercy of those bony hands, “I just… I wish I’d stood up for myself more with her too, not let her treat me the way she did.”

“You did _not_ ‘let’ her.”

Catra’s almost offended at the interruption, being told she’s wrong about something that Castaspella has no idea about. She’s thought about this for years, replayed moments over and over in her head to act out ways she could have done something differently and saved herself from Shadow Weaver. There were times when Catra knows she should have walked away, or just nodded in agreement, not talked back and ended up paralysed by the woman’s magic.

“I _did_!” she insists, her voice raised to a shout, “I let her hurt me, I let Prime hurt me. That’s… that’s what I _do_! I’m probably going to end up letting Adora hurt me too one day!”

There’s a tense silence that follows her outburst. Castaspella finding it desperately sad that anyone would say such a thing about themselves, and Catra stunned into silence by her own admission. _That_ was something she never wanted to say to anyone; she definitely couldn’t tell Adora, and there was no-one else she trusted enough to say it to. At least, not until now.

Casta takes a moment to gather her thoughts and to make sure she phrases her words correctly without scolding the girl. She can entirely understand why Catra’s feeling the way she is, how the lack of anyone acting like a proper parent to her would inevitably lead to her own self-blame, but she can’t let it go unchallenged, “Catra, listen to me.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shout.”

“No, that’s okay, I’m not angry,” the slight half-smile on her face reassures Catra that she’s telling the truth, “Catra, there’s no such thing as ‘letting someone hurt you’, okay? People like Shadow Weaver, they only care about power and how to show they have it. They want to make sure you never realise that you’re so much stronger than they are, so they do all these horrible things so you never know how weak they really are. And Adora? She would _never_ do anything to hurt you. Arms out.”

Castaspella holds up what is rapidly becoming a sleeve to measure it against the arm it is meant for, and Catra automatically does as she's told. Satisfied that it’s the length she wants it to be, Casta resumes knitting and nods to let Catra know she can lower her arm once again.

Another tear streams down Catra’s cheek and she idly wipe it away, “How do you know? How can you be sure she’s not going to see what Prime and Shadow Weaver saw in me and do the same?”

“Because Adora loves you. _Genuinely_ loves you, not whatever distorted version of love you got from anyone who hurt you in the past. I’ve seen the way that girl looks at you, she’s besotted, and after everything you’ve both been through, there’s no way she will ever let you go.”

“You think so?” Catra sniffles, tensing up with embarrassment that she’s been crying so much. Even though Adora literally stopped the universe from ending to be with her, she’s still dogged by thoughts that Adora will one day realise Catra isn’t perfect and will never be good enough for her. And if past experience has taught Catra anything, it’s that when people realise she’s not who they want her to be, it ends up hurting.

“I _know_ so.”

She feels Casta’s optimism, and appreciates the effort to reassure her, but she can’t share it. And she knows she should; Adora is as in love with her as she is with Adora, but the future is clouded by her own past. She wants to believe she’s left behind those who would only hurt her, and logic dictates that she has, but the memories of Prime and Shadow Weaver still haunt her. As much as she wishes to be free, Catra is still dominated by the weight of what they did.

Castaspella sees it too, and she hates how powerless she feels to take the pain away and allow Catra to live a life liberated from her past. All she can do is provide platitudes and solidarity, but maybe that is enough, “Catra, I can’t fix what happened to you, but please know I’m here to talk about it any time you need.”

“Talk?” Catra scoffs a laugh, which comes across much more impolitely than she intends, “Talking doesn’t help. I’m gonna have to live with all this forever.”

“It will get easier, I promise,” Casta breaks her knitting rhythm to gently place a hand on Catra’s knee. It’s a small gesture, and she’s not sure quite why she did it, but she feels the younger woman relax instantly, “And I know talking doesn’t take away, but trust me, it helps.”

“I can’t keep waking you up in the middle of the night to talk though.”

“No, but maybe you can try one thing next time,” the sorceress smiles warmly.

“What?”

“Next time you wake up after a nightmare, I want you to sit up and put your feet on the floor,” there’s a confused look on Catra’s face, but Casta continues anyway, “Focus on how the carpet feels, and how firmly you can sense it, okay? Then I want you to say to yourself ‘I’m in my bedroom, I’m safe’.”

Catra normally finds the idea of doing anything like that to be pointless; all the stuff Perfuma had tried (and failed) to teach her about meditation made no impact on anything for her. Attempting to visualise a calm, happy place is fine, but impossible when her head is in chaotic disarray. But Casta already knows what it’s like for her – Catra had never told Perfuma all that much about the source of her anger and anxiety, it was, as far as she was concerned, none of the Princess’ business. Castaspella, on the other hand, _does_ know what Catra is dealing with, and she’d lose nothing by at least trying the suggestion.

“Okay, I’ll do that,” Catra nods, still hesitant. She knows that in theory, it sounds like a perfectly decent idea, although in the heat of the moment, her brain still wracked with terror, she may not even remember to try. But it’s not the thought of forgetting that bothers her, it’s the idea that she would let Castaspella down by not taking her advice. She would be disappointed, and that feeling knots Catra’s stomach and brings more tears racing to her eyes.

What is it, she wonders, about Casta that’s making her feel so beholden to her opinion? Why does she feel pride at the thought of following the woman’s instructions and shame at the idea of ignoring everything she’s said? She wants to tell Casta about the things she does, the little victories that prove she’s healing from the past and becoming a better person; wants to revel in the pure bliss that would come from a simple, gratifying “well done". It’s almost embarrassing that she wants to go out of her way to please this… this _experience_ of a woman who seems to only know how to knit and stick her nose in where it doesn’t belong.

“I should... I should go,” Catra stutters, her private shame driving a fresh wave of unease at having woken Castaspella up in the middle of the night to talk about her own past. The demons inside are none of this woman’s business, and she scolds herself at having bothered Casta with any of it.

“Of course,” comes the reply. It’s accepting – encouraging even – and Catra’s beginning to resent it. She doesn’t _deserve_ this kindness, doesn’t warrant any kind of warmth or approval from anyone in Bright Moon and definitely shouldn’t be treated like-

_No,_ she stops herself, remembering what Casta said days before: _Glimmer has accepted what’s happened. Maybe you need to as well._ She’s been thinking about those words ever since she heard them, wondering how on Etheria she could ever move on from punishing herself with regret. It’s never been a case of simply saying ‘Oh well, Angella’s dead and it’s my fault. Fancy a coffee?’, and Catra doesn’t feel like she’s made any sort of progress towards acceptance.

Until now. It may be a drop in the ocean, a meaningless act in the face of all the pain she’s caused, but in this moment, Catra chooses to be kind to herself. And maybe it’s selfish, maybe it’s taking the easy way out, but it feels right. It’s the tiniest act, just to say ‘I’m going to accept this help without questioning if I deserve it’, but it feels so powerful to her; it’s like being in control again, like she’s taken a huge step forward towards her own peace. Yet it doesn’t feel selfish, it’s as though being kind to herself benefits those around her equally, if not more.

She lets it control her, allows it to keep her gaze raised instead of staring timidly at the floor. Catra’s stood, relaxed, in the room and not slinking back and running away down the corridor without any explanation. Maybe this was what Casta was talking about, maybe she really _does_ need to stop punishing herself constantly, because this feels like a breakthrough moment. Not that she’d admit it out loud, of course, all she’s done is make one tiny little decision and it’s hardly the sort of thing she would tell anyone about, but Catra can’t deny that at this moment in time, she feels in command of her emotions for once.

“Thank you, Casta,” she has to force herself to say it, years of Horde conditioning telling her that emotional conversations are something she should avoid and never acknowledge. She certainly would never have given any gratitude for anything like that – the correct response would probably be to scream at them and run away before you ended up talking about your feelings.

Casta has that same proud smile plastered across her face as before. It’s obvious she can see the difference in Catra’s reaction from what she has come to expect, although she doesn’t draw attention to it, “I’m here any time you need to talk. Oh, and when’s Adora coming home?”

“A week today.”

“I see, not long…” she nods absentmindedly, “I think you should talk to her about what you said to me.”

Catra’s face reddens. This is the point at which her inner strength tails off and she can no longer stare down her fear of deep conversations, “I… No, I- I can’t.”

“She’ll help you; I promise.”

“It… you wouldn’t get it,” she sees herself falling back into the same behaviours already; deflect, hide, pretend it’s not happening. But she steels herself with determination, takes a deep breath and lets it calm her jumbled mind, “I… Okay, I will.”

“Wonderful!” Casta claps her hands together, almost instantly regretting the loud noise it makes, having forgotten it was half past four in the morning. By way of penance, she continues at a whisper, “And I think I’ll have your sweater finished just in time for her return.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adora's about to return, and she won't be alone....

“I’ve really missed you,” Catra can’t help but smile at Adora’s image on the tracker pad, mirroring the grin on her girlfriend's face, “Can’t wait to see you later on.”

“Neither can I. Oh, and Scorpia too.”

Catra involuntarily jumps at the name, “W-what do you mean Scorpia too?”

“She’s coming to visit Bright Moon for a few days,” if Adora has noticed the sudden change in Catra’s demeanour, she’s not saying anything about it, “We figured we could all do with a break from rebuilding.”

Heat rushes to Catra’s cheeks and her breathing becomes a little less even as the prospect of seeing Scorpia is rejected outright by her brain. She can’t face it, can’t face up to the judgement of one of the people she hurt most, and is already trying to rapidly come up with an escape plan. Perhaps she could call around the other Princesses and see which one of them would suddenly be fine with having her around for a week; or maybe she should fake an illness, lock herself away in her room until Scorpia is gone.

She sees Adora’s face become concerned, and Catra just _knows_ she is going to ask about the reason she’s gone silent. This isn’t the time to explain; she doesn’t even have the words to right now, “I… I have to go Adora.”

“Oh, what-”

Catra presses the ‘call end’ button before Adora can finish, tossing the pad to the side in a panic. She’s already beginning to imagine the painfully awkward silences that will come up between her and Scorpia, with the Princess almost certainly thinking about any one of the numerous times Catra treated her like dirt. It’s too difficult for her to face, which is why she wants to hide herself away, maybe claw at some pillows until she’s lying in a pool of shredded fabric.

But over the last couple of weeks whilst Adora has been away, Catra has found a much better outlet for her struggles, someone who listens to her without any judgement and has a endless supply of advice: Castaspella. The two of them have been meeting up regularly since Catra first started talking to her, and it has been beyond helpful to her. They’ve not always been super serious discussions like the night Catra woke Casta up after a nightmare, there has been plenty of more light-hearted meetings. She still laughs about the conversation they had a few nights back about the Princesses that evolved into each of them trying to do impressions; Castaspella’s Mermista was an experience Catra will never forget.

The other advantage of spending more time together is that Catra’s no longer scared of her. Not that she was terrified by the woman before, it was more that she felt like she was bothering Casta by talking and she’d get yelled at eventually. The morning after their 4am talk, Catra was certain she had committed a huge faux pas, that Casta absolutely detested the stupid little girl who’d barged into her room to wake her up, oblivious to the fact that she was 22 years old and shouldn’t be scared like a five-year-old. That fear of facing her kept Catra locked in her room until gone midday, when she answered the door to Casta carrying a tray of coffee and food, concerned that she hadn’t seen her come down for breakfast.

And though their conversation topics have changed each day, one thing has remained the same – Castaspella’s love of knitting. Catra has found it wonderfully calming watching the needles moving rhythmically in her hands, seeing the sweater take form. A sleeve was completed to a conversation about the animals that lived around Bright Moon, half the front panel was created over a long lunch, and by the time of yesterday’s chat about King Micah, the sweater was nearing completion. It’s practically magic to Catra, the way a ball of yarn can become something much bigger, something she can wear, and she is in awe of the skill it takes.

She’s still unsure as to _why_ Casta insists on knitting for her, the reassurance and care the woman has shown her is itself more than she deserves. Catra hasn’t given her anything in return beyond making the odd cup of coffee. She can’t fathom the idea of kindness for kindness’ sake – in the Horde, any time someone helped you out it was because they expected something in return. Everywhere else on Etheria is different, with people helping because it’s the right thing to do, but Catra still finds it an impossible concept to get her head around.

Nonetheless, it’s Castaspella she wants – _needs_ – to talk to right now, and she’s running down the corridor, sliding to a halt outside the sorceress’ room. Hoping she’s inside, Catra knocks on the door, far more confidently than she used to.

“Are you in there? It’s me. Uh, it’s Catra.”

“It’s open,” calls the reply from inside and Catra feels just a little calmer from hearing Casta’s voice. There’s great relief in knowing that she can talk about what’s bothering her, that she’s not having to worry about Scorpia alone.

Castaspella greets her with that same kind smile that Catra has come to associate with understanding and safety. The knitting needles that seem to be permanently attached to her hand are working away at speed, rapidly creating what looks to be the front panel of her new sweater. But they stop dead the second Casta looks up. The worry plastered over Catra’s face is clear, no matter how much she thinks she’s good at hiding her feelings.

“What’s wrong? I thought you’d be excited to have Adora back today.”

That hurts Catra more than she cares to admit. Though she knows it wasn’t the intention, it feels as though she’s being accused of not loving Adora enough, that to be anything but ecstatic is a personal failure. It’s almost enough to make her turn and run, suddenly writing off Castaspella as just like everyone else who sees her as an awful person. But there’s kindness is Casta’s voice; it’s not an accusation but an offer of help that Catra tries to remind herself she is worthy of.

“No, I am. It’s just... Scorpia’s coming back with her,” she’s talking faster than usual, almost embarrassed that the fact is causing her such distress.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Yes!” Catra can’t help but raise her voice, as though it was the most obvious thing on Etheria that she doesn’t want to see Scorpia. But she quickly regrets shouting – at Castaspella of all people – and lowers her head in shame that she’s let herself get so angry.

Though Catra expects a defensive ‘What are you shouting for’ or similar in response, Casta merely extends an arm out towards her, “Come sit down. Talk to me.”

Catra takes a seat opposite her, a small table separating the two of them. This is what Casta called her ‘tea nook’, though it was far from being a nook given that it was very much central to the room. The position of the chairs allowed them to look out of the large window at one of the many waterfalls that were an integral part of Bright Moon, a wonderfully calming view that Catra loved. She’s never asked _why_ there are waterfalls on a castle, it’s probably some weird Princess stuff, but the trickling water is mesmerising and helps her relax.

“Okay,” she stares at her hands, pressing her fingers together in turn as she searches for the words. She’d never have done this before getting to know Casta, hitting things served her well for dealing with feelings – or at least she thought it did. With Castaspella’s advice, Catra is finally feeling as though she’s making progress in life, actually moving forward rather than just channelling everything into an angry outburst. All that’s done for her, she realises, is make her feel better temporarily without solving the problem.

Catra takes a deep breath, “I don’t want Scorpia to be here, I’m not ready.”

“Not ready?”

“No, I can’t... I don’t...” she growls as she fails to articulate the intense feeling inside, “I was awful to her and she’s always going to be thinking about that. I bet she hates me.”

Casta laughs warmly, “Scorpia couldn’t hate anyone if she tried. I’m sure she’s forgiven you.”

While Catra’s fairly certain of that fact as well, there’s still something in her that refuses to believe it. Scorpia is the nicest, most loving person she has ever known, and maybe that’s what stops her moving on; she took advantage many times in the past, and it feels like she’s doing the same now. It took years of facing the brunt of Catra’s anger and belittling comments before Scorpia finally had enough, and Catra can’t be sure that her excessive tolerance isn’t forcing Scorpia to forgive her without it being earned.

“It’s like with what happened to Angella – I was selfish and impulsive and I’m never going to be able to forget it.”

“Ah, but it’s not,” Casta has a wry smile now, a twinkle in her eye that tells Catra she’s about to offer up some wisdom, “With Scorpia you’ve got the chance to do better. I know you can’t change the past, but you can change the future for both of you.”

There’s something in her optimism that sparks a similar feeling in Catra, a sense that she really can change things. But it’s not as easy as Casta is making it out to be, how can she get true forgiveness from someone who would forgive anything? Scorpia’s capacity for kindness is admirable, Catra knows of no-one like her in that respect, but she takes it to an extreme that Catra cannot fathom. She _shouldn’t_ have forgiven her as easily as she did, she didn’t even wait for so much as an apology.

“You don’t know Scorpia like I do. She would apologise to a chair if she walked into it, she’s hardly the sort of person who would give someone a hard time when they deserved it.”

“And do you think you deserve a hard time?” Casta’s raised eyebrow and titled head give Catra the impression that it’s a rhetorical question with an answer that’s almost written in the air between them, “Look, Catra, you need to trust that Scorpia knows her own mind. She’s a grown woman who can make her own decisions about who to forgive and how. Yes, she has a big heart, but that’s not a flaw.”

Catra catches herself before blurting out a sarcastic comment about how caring about people _was_ a flaw in the Horde. Had it not been for the fact that the Fright Zone and the Black Garnet originally belonged to Scorpia’s family, she’d never have made it to Force Captain. Part of the deal Hordak made with the Scorpion Kingdom was that their leaders would be given high-ranking positions in the Horde, and Scorpia was too young to have been ordered into the impossible battle that killed the rest of the royal family. Yet somehow, despite having her land and loved ones forcibly taken from her by Hordak, she still grew up maintaining a childlike optimism and love for those around her.

Though she’d never admitted it, Catra admired Scorpia for that. Aside from with Adora, Catra had always closed herself off to everyone else in the Horde, lashing out at anyone who tried to get close. It was the polar opposite to Scorpia who instantly tried to befriend everyone she met, a woman who saw only good in everyone whilst Catra was incapable of doing so. And how she wished she could have, how she longed to have Scorpia’s confidence with people; instead, she pushed them away, hid herself behind a wall of claws and barbed comments.

“Be thankful that someone so kind is your friend,” Casta continues, “Accept her forgiveness and justify it by showing her that you can, and will, be better.”

“I don’t know if I can,” she whispers, “What if I never change? I’m scared I’ll be like I was and hurt people again.”

The sweater again is placed carefully on the floor next to Castaspella, and she leans forward, taking hold of Catra’s hand, “You won’t. You’ve changed already, look at you – look at everything you’ve done for Etheria and for Adora. I know you’re a good person, Catra.”

“Ha, no,” she can’t avoid a cynical chuckle, “I mean...yeah, I did good things but I’m terrified of falling again. I’m so scared I’ll end up hurting Scorpia. Or Adora.”

“You won’t.”

“Yeah, well... I didn’t exactly have the best example growing up,” how Catra hates that she’s still having to think about Shadow Weaver so often. Every time she opens up to Casta, it always ends up coming back to her late guardian, and she’s certain it must be tiring by now. _Shadow Weaver_ this, _Shadow Weaver_ that; she still wasn’t really gone, and that was as painful as it was a relief. Though she detests all mention of the old woman, and the memories they bring up, the idea of forgetting about her entirely feels worse.

Casta, too, knows exactly who she had in mind. She’s never asked outright, but from the conversations she and Catra have had, as well as seeing what Micah went through, she’s pretty confident she knows what Catra experienced at the mercy of Shadow Weaver. And if she weren’t already dead, Casta would kill her with her bare hands for what she did. But she knows that anger wouldn’t help the person in front of her right now, “I know you didn’t. But you’ve got so many more people around you now who want to help. People who love you.”

Catra pulls back, her eyes staring at the floor, “I just keep remembering Shadow Weaver’s last words. She said ‘you’re welcome’, and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since. What if... What if I was wrong about her and I should be grateful for what she did? What if that’s how I’m supposed to be and I’m just hurting Adora by being me?”

Even in death, Shadow Weaver infuriates Castaspella. Leaving this poor kid in such confusion about the torment she’d been put through her entire life was bad enough, but doing so in a way that made Catra second-guess the way she loved Adora was downright disgusting. Casta feels devastated that this girl whose love saved everyone on Etheria, could be left in such doubt about her own behaviour and live in such fear that she would drive people away. But that was Shadow Weaver's mode of operation - take away every shred of self-confidence until they believed that her mistreatment was the best they would ever get from life.

“It’s just…” Catra trails off as the urge to cry begins to swamp her, but she perseveres through it, “Nobody ever showed me how to be a good person. I mean, Adora _tried_ and then I spent years fighting her because I was so convinced that she was wrong. But there was no-one else to… I guess to show me the right way to be?”

“Then let me.”

Both of them are equally as surprised at the sudden, determined response. Catra’s still not used to any form of guidance from older adults – all she got in the Horde was an expectation to follow her superiors and obey they orders without question. The idea of anyone ever saying to her ‘let me show you how to be a person’ was unfathomable.

Casta hadn’t realised how firm she’d sounded either; it wasn’t a command, she’s going to let Catra make up her own mind of course, but it was more than a suggestion. And maybe it’s not just being nice to someone who’s not had anywhere near enough people being nice to her; perhaps there’s a little selfishness in there too, something Casta herself could get from it too, “Look, I never had any kids. I mean, I looked after Glimmer a fair bit after Micah vanished, but I know she finds me annoying.”

“She doesn’t,” Catra tries to save her feelings, despite having been on the receiving end of a long lecture from Glimmer about how her aunt irritates her and just needs to butt out of her life once in a while. That part she might hold back for now.

Casta laughs, “Oh, she does. At first, I took it really personally and thought she hated me, but I know she loves me deep down. That’s why I deliberately turn up the annoying, overbearing aunt role when I’m around her. You should have _seen_ what I was like when I first found out she and Bow got together…”

“Trust me, I heard. Non-stop for about three hours.”

They share in a moment of laughter. While they’re both very fond of Glimmer, her tendency to launch into unstoppable long rants about the smallest of annoyances is trying, to say the least. Catra’s found that smiling and nodding along with whatever she’s saying is usually the best and quickest way to let Glimmer get it out of her system, but there always seems to be something new for her to complain about.

A loud clap from Casta’s hands startles Catra out of her thoughts, “Right, it’s done!”

“What’s done?”

“Your sweater. Try it on!”

She holds up her creation at the shoulders, allowing Catra to see the finished sweater for the first time. It’s a beautiful bright cinnabar red, with a darker carmine motif of Melog’s face over the chest, their eyes and nose highlighted in black. And it looks _so soft_. Just the sight of it and Catra wants nothing more than to curl up on her bed and drape the sweater over herself like a blanket, to nestle in the thick, soft wool. There’s no prompting needed for her to take the sweater and pull it over her neck; and the moment she does, something changes. Something just feels _right_. Catra can’t say how or why, but there’s a magic to it, an almost tangible buzz that sweeps her up in a sensation of comfort. More than that, in fact – it’s safety, it’s home, it’s love. And she never wants to take it off.

“So,” Casta waits with an expectant smile, “What do you think?”

Catra is still rendered speechless by just how perfect it is. Just the right amount of warmth, a fit that Bright Moon’s best tailors couldn’t even hope to recreate and the softest wool that seems to merge with her skin, “I... I love it. Thank you.”

“Wonderful! I made it with a little extra something for you.”

“Some kind of magic spell?” though she’s not entirely sure if such a thing is possible, Catra can’t imagine how else some knitted wool can feel so powerful.

Casta laughs, “No, not magic. Love.”

 _Love?_ Catra still isn’t quite sure what it means, and even less certain that she’s deserving of it. She’s the one who waged war against those she now lives amongst, she’s the one whose single-minded obsession with revenge took away their Queen and whose scheming almost lost the planet to Horde Prime. Catra knows her past has been an awful cycle of people hurting her, and doing the same in turn. She can never forget what she has done, and nor should she.

But she knows she’s also capable of good. She saved Glimmer from Horde Prime, not because she was going to get something from it, but because it was the right thing to do. She went back to warn Adora about Prime’s virus and stayed with her to face what they both expected to be the end. Catra has saved Etheria, she has fought her urge to run away and hide herself from her own feelings, and though she doesn’t expect or want to be idolised and praised for it, it proves to her that she has changed. That she can feel worthy of the love she’s getting.

For so many years, Catra tried to be independent to the point of isolation. She told herself that she didn’t need anyone, that she could be successful and powerful by herself. But it was only when she had other people, mainly Adora, but also Glimmer and Bow, that she achieved the things she’s most proud of. And now she has Casta too – a better mother to her in the past two weeks than Shadow Weaver was in almost twenty years. Catra is stronger because of these people, this odd accumulated family of hers, and now she has the courage and the support to be better than she’s ever been. She can begin to heal now.

And it all starts with a sweater.

* * *

The air in the Bright Moon courtyard begins to shimmer, developing into a pink light and then into the form of three people. Catra picks out Adora’s silhouette the second it begins to take shape, and she can’t stop the wide smile that greets her girlfriend.

“We’re back!” Glimmer shouts enthusiastically. Even a couple of years after she took the full power of the moonstone in the wake of her mother’s… _absence,_ and no longer needs to recharge, she still feels rather proud and accomplished each time she teleports several people across vast distances. But her pride is cut short by confusion at the sight of Catra and Castaspella stood together, Catra wearing what looks decidedly like her aunt’s knitting, “What are you two…? Oh, no, she hasn’t been annoying you, has she?”

Casta chuckles slightly, “No, not at all. Catra has-”

“I was asking _her_.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Catra shrugs, giving Glimmer a look that says ‘drop it’. But even as she’s speaking, it sounds like the old her – the isolated one, the one who shut people out – and she promised herself those days are gone. There’s nothing to be ashamed of, she tells herself, “Actually no, it _does_ matter. Castaspella has been helping me with some stuff while you’ve been gone, and she knitted me a sweater. I love it.”

Before Glimmer can respond to the strange friendship that seems to have sprung up between Catra and her aunt, a flash of red darts between the two of them as Scorpia greets Catra in the way that only Scorpia can, “Well I think it looks wonderful, Wildcat.”

“Ow...ribs...” Catra croaks, only slightly exaggerating how tight the hug is. Once Scorpia releases her, the grin on her face provides relief that there was no damage done, “Good to see you.”

“And you. You should have come with Adora, get the old Super Pal Trio back together, you know?”

“Someone had to keep an eye on this place,” Adora appears at Catra’s side, holding her hand and planting a kiss on the top of her girlfriend’s head, “I missed you so much, and from that call earlier, it sounds like you missed me. What... What are you wearing?”

Catra stretches her arms wide, giving Adora a full view of the sweater. Not that looking at it could properly convey how it feels to wear it, how it’s like a second skin, warming and cosy. It’s got an aura about it, something ethereal that makes it more than just some wool knitted into a sweater, and something Adora would never quite understand.

“Casta made it for me.”

“You mean like… Glimmer’s Aunt Casta?” Adora tilts her head to the side, trying to wrap her brain around the idea that the two of them have even so much as been able to stand a few seconds around each other.

“Do you know of any other?”

Adora shakes her head, still confused, and makes a mental note to ask Catra about it later, “I don’t… Anyway, I’m a bit worn out from the mission. What do you say we get some cake from the kitchen and eat it in bed?”

Catra’s tempted by the idea – after returning from the ship, Glimmer showed her what this mysterious ‘cake’ stuff was and she’s been eating the stuff like it’s going out of fashion. But there is something more pressing, something that she would have avoided at all costs before talking to Casta: she needs to face up to the difficult but necessary things that have plagued her mind. She would never have had the courage to even consider it before, but it’s almost as though her sweater gives her that extra boost of confidence.

“I’d love to, but… I have something really important to do first,” she looks up at Scorpia with a modest smile, “I need to talk to you.”

Catra pulls gently on the sleeve of her sweater, and it almost feels like Casta is whispering words of encouragement in her ear. _It’s time to move forward._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, I've really enjoyed writing it. Catra deserves a proper mother figure in her life who can help her heal from the past, and Castaspella is obviously the best person for the job!
> 
> Follow me on tumblr @lisshstuff (I also run @etherianinenine and @swearyshera).


End file.
